Page 65 of Choosing You

I pull the sweatshirt tighter around me as a gust of wind blows. “So what happens if your dad finds out about us?”

“He’ll stop putting money in my account and probably take my car. But I don’t care about that. I need to make a stand. Otherwise he’ll keep trying to control every aspect of my life.”

“This is so stupid. I can’t believe he won’t even let us be friends. When I had dinner at your house he told you to get to know me.”

“Yeah, but he didn’t think it would actually go anywhere. He didn’t think we’d end up being friends. Or more than friends.”

“But he picked me for the scholarship. He can’t hate me that much.”

“He doesn’t hate you, Jade. In fact I can tell that he likes you. But he’s so focused on the Kensington image and what people think that he can’t see past it. And Katherine only makes it worse. Plus it doesn’t help to have people like Ava and Blake gossiping about us.”

“Maybe you should go to more charity events or afternoon teas or whatever you rich people do. Then maybe everyone would see that being friends with me isn’t that big a deal.”

“I doubt it’ll make a difference but I could try that.” He smiles. “Although I don’t go to afternoon tea, Jade.”

The wind picks up again. “We should go inside.”

“In a minute. First I need you to show me that thing I taught you.” He holds his arms out in front of him. “It’s been weeks now and you probably forgot how to do it.”

I sigh dramatically. “Do I have to?”

“Yes. You need to practice.”

I wrap my arms loosely around him. But he hugs me tight, his warm chest pressed against mine and his strong arms shielding me from the cold.

It feels good to be this close to him again. It feels right. I shut my eyes, breathing him in, listening to the pounding of his heart.

“Oh yeah, you definitely need more practice,” he says. “We’re gonna have to do this a lot in order for you to get it right.”

I couldn’t agree more.

CHAPTEREIGHTEEN

After classon Thursday I return to my room and find a note on my door telling me to go see Jasmine, my RA. When I get to her room, she hands me a big box.

“Care package?” she asks.

“Um, yeah. I guess.” I take the box and quickly leave. I don’t want her or anyone else to know it’s my birthday. I’ve never liked my birthday. Growing up I had to watch other kids hand out party invitations and bring cupcakes to school while my mom acted like my birthday didn’t exist.

Back in my room, I rip open the box. Inside there’s a few small bags of potato chips, packs of gum, a box of snack cakes with candles taped to the top, colored pens, a couple wrapped packages, and three envelopes. I pop a piece of gum in my mouth, then open the wrapped gifts. Inside the first package are two long sleeve athletic shirts, one black and one white. The other package contains a pair of black running pants. It’s exactly what I need for the colder weather. The sizes are even right.

Two of the envelopes have Frank’s barely legible handwriting. I choke up just seeing it. I miss him so much. And knowing he went to all this trouble for my birthday causes that watery eye problem I can’t seem to get under control.

The first envelope is a birthday card signed by both Frank and Ryan. It’s a funny card about getting old with a picture of a wrinkly dog on the front. Inside is $50 cash and a note telling me to use it only for fun. The water escapes my eyes and runs down my cheek. It’s too much money. I expected $10 or $15, not $50. Frank needs that money for his medical bills way more than I need it for my birthday. The other envelope contains $100 for expenses.

Just as I’m about to call Frank the phone rings.

“Happy birthday!” Frank and Ryan say it in unison.

“Thanks, guys.” I wipe the tears off my face. “And thank you for all the gifts, but it was way too much.”

“Nineteen is a big birthday,” Ryan says. “It’s your last year as a teenager. We couldn’t cheap out on you.”

“How do you like the gifts?” Frank asks. “You know how bad Ryan and I are with women’s clothing. Do they fit?”

“I didn’t try them on yet but you got the right sizes. I can’t believe you two went shopping.”

“Chloe helped me,” Ryan confesses. “She’s a runner, too. She said you’d want that stuff if you run in the winter. Something about how the fabric breathes. But I picked the colors. She wanted to get you pink shirts.”

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